• My Ireland

    I stand very still, not moving, not speaking, and completely alone. I hear the gentle howl of the wind as it rides east of me, my hair flowing to its rhythm. I hear water rushing, pounding hard against stone and earth near deafening. I open my eyes to see the emerald valley stretched before me, grass so green it would shame the vain gem. It itches between my toes yet feels smooth beneath the feet my soles. The grass smells like the sweet newly poured rain after a great storm, and I taste the salty mist of the ocean brought to me by that same eastbound wind. Over to my left I see a cliff outcropping the great blue ocean, its waters faintly glisten in the setting suns light. I look further behind me and discover a great waterfall; so vast and so immense I wonder if it filled the ocean. Only one word can describe this magnificent place: harmony, where I feel the Celtic blood in me sing as I watch the nature around me unfold, and two words slowly whisper themselves to me: Mo h-√Čireann fein.